


Come Home Tonight?

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Reunion, songwriter!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 09:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John learned to play guitar as a distraction when Sherlock died.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Home Tonight?

**Author's Note:**

> To the tune of "Hobos in the Roundhouse" by Bill and Kate Isles

 

The quiet strumming of an acoustic guitar filled the darkened room. A tall, dark-haired man lounged on the bed, watching the blonde man in the chair sing in a fine tenor that seemed to melt into their very bones.

 

"I'm looking right now at a man who was dead.

He fell from a rooftop, cracked open his head.

But I'm seeing him now, so clear and so bright,

My Sherlock has finally come back tonight.

 

It hurt deep every day, every hour you were gone,

But I knew you were real, and that helped me along,

And they said not to trust you, said your head wasn't right,

But I'm glad that my Sherlock has come home tonight.

 

Goodnight, my Sherlock, rest your know-it-all head

On my old army pillow in my tumbledown bed.

For a few stolen hours, we'll be all right 

My Sherlock has finally come home tonight.

 

I can't help but wonder if you're really there 

With your ivory skin and your ebony hair.

You captured my heart and you set it alight,

And you've finally, finally come home tonight.

 

 

Goodnight, my Sherlock, rest your know-it-all head

On my old army pillow in my tumbledown bed.

For a few stolen hours, we’ll be all right

My Shelock has finally come home tonight.

 

I wished many times o'er the years for you,

But now that you're here, I don't know what to do.

So I'll ask you a question, I hope that I might:

Will my Sherlock finally come home tonight?

 

Goodnight, my Sherlock, rest your know-it-all head

On my old army pillow in my tumbledown bed.

For a few stolen hours, we’ll be all right

My Shelock has finally come home tonight.

 

The nightmares won't dare come near us tonight,

We're alive, we're together, it'll all be all right."

 

 

"Sounds like American folk music. I didn't know you had it in you, John, but... I like it. I like the way you sing." Sherlock smiled at John. "However, I feel obligated to point out that this is not, in fact, your old army pillow." He lobbed the pillow at John.

John laughed, set the guitar aside, and lunged, tackling him back onto the bed. 

 

Later that night, a breeze stirred the curtains from the window, and moonlight flooded in, pools of liquid silver flowing through the silent, velvet night, settling in thin ivory strands across the two men who lay so close that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. The threads of moonlight wrapped around them like a woven blanket, a heavenly boat, a night-sky canoe, carrying the two off into a sea of stars.

 

_"G'night, boys."_


End file.
